“This is a sad space, a memorial even.” Starcroft buzzes past me and floats over to the long dead alien. He shines a little light over his body and is quiet for a moment. If robots can’t feel, he’s doing his best impression of someone who can. “Warlord Mekkra doesn’t like to speak of this, but I have no directives to keep this information from you. This is the spot where Warlord Mekkra last fell into the red oblivion.”
He speaks as if I should know what he’s talking about.
“What’s the red oblivion?” I ask, just knowing it’s going to be something terrible. You don’t wrap up something nice and pleasant with a name like that, and I doubt the bones on the floor died of too much affection.
“Oh, I suppose you don’t know about that. The term red oblivion is a Drefling name for when their kind succumb to the madness of being unmated. It is incredibly unpleasant.”
Madness.
“Did Mekkra kill him?” I know the answer already.
“Yes, he did. Although I don’t think he wanted to, if that helps.”
It doesn’t. It might even make it worse.
“But who was this? Someone who tried to take over the trade routes?” I’m trying to quantify his actions. I’m not sure why though, I know he’s volatile. This shouldn’t shock me—should it?
“My brother,” a voice from the hallway says softly, reverberating off the metal walls of the space heavy with grief. Starcroft snaps off his light, like a child in trouble for reading too late in bed.
I turn on my heel, and my gaze lands squarely on his body, filling the threshold so that no external light bleeds around him. For a moment he’s silent, but even in the darkness I can see something sharp splash across his face.
“You weren’t meant to see this... Even I do not come here.”
“I didn’t know?—”
“No,” he cuts me off. “You did not.”
He’s not accusing me, but his voice is so thick with tension I can’t help but feel as though I’ve broken some unspoken rule.
“Whathappened?”
He draws a deep breath in.
“I did.”
“Your own brother? What did he do?” I can’t keep my voice neutral. How could someone kill their own kin?
The air shifts from the chill of before to something heavier and hot.
“I told you—I’ve been unmated for too long—I lost control. He tried to stop me from hurting a cargo ship that wandered too far off course.” Mekkra’s eyes go glassy, as if he’s replaying that day in his head.
“They were no threat to us, and my brother saved them, but not before I cut his throat for his insolence.”
He steps forward, past me, and suddenly strikesthe metal memorial, smashing in the corner. Sparks fly as his claws scrape the surface.
I flinch, but I don’t run.
“I’m so close to losing control again,” he pants, voice rough. Even though he’s fraying at the edges, it feels like an admission. Like he’s showing me his weakness.
Mekkra’s pupils are blown wide when he turns back to me, the spines along his back fully lifting. He’s standing on the precipice of losing himself again. But for the first time, I can see that he’s actively fighting what his biology threatens—underneath his fear and hostility lies a shame that cuts deep.
And that shame is seemingly completely out of his control. I see some of my pain reflected in him.
Instead of retreating to my room again, I do the thing he least expects. I step forward, channeling all my rage and hate about my situation into something else. I wrap my arms around his waist, avoiding the spines along his back, and just hug him.
We’re both fighting for our fucking lives, and neither one of us has had much say about it.
“You wish to…comfort me? After learning what I’ve done?” he demands, heat radiating off him in waves.
